


Harvest Season

by yarn_and_loopholes



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Is this a fix-it? Perhaps.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27764839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarn_and_loopholes/pseuds/yarn_and_loopholes
Summary: The Mighty Nein are taking a walk on a normal road in autumn. It is harvest season.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf & Yasha
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Harvest Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TamscendingGender](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TamscendingGender/gifts).



They are walking along a loosely-packed road. Fields of pale grass dotted with a scant few shrubs roll far off into the distance on either side, and the sunlight reaches them only faintly from the flat grey sky. A touch of a hint to the suggestion of rain hangs in the air. It is a day like weak tea.

There are seven of them walking in the pale midday light. There is the tall, fair woman, who walks erect; and the stocky blue woman bouncing along beside her, jewelry jingling in her curling horns; the tall, furry one with shockingly pink hair matching the soft lichen which creeps along his armor and clothes; there is the small green-skinned woman whose nimble fingers curl through the fur of the ginger cat around her neck; and the man with red hair and a dirty face, currently stepping off to the side of the others; there is the lithe woman in blue, deftly twirling her staff with an air of boredom; and the green man with the small pair of tusks curving gently between his lips. The man with red hair and blue eyes stops abruptly in the middle of the road.

“Caleb?” asks the soft firbolg man.

“It is autumn,” says the other, in a dusty voice.

“Mmmm,” Caduceus rumbles, as the others stop around the two of them. He inhales deeply. “Smells like good soil. Good crops this year.”

“Indeed.” The fox-haired man looks briefly at the horizon, as if orienting himself. Then he abruptly bends over and plunges his hands into the loose earth. “The harvest is bountiful this year,” he comments blandly as he very suddenly yanks a dirt-encrusted, heavily tattooed, and utterly naked lavender tiefling out of the ground.

Beau reacts first. “WHOA DUDE WHAT THE FUCK?” she yells, even as Jester screams “OH MY GOD, MOLLY!” Fjord jumps directly backwards two and a half feet, abruptly cutting off Nott’s earsplitting shriek. And then Yasha throws them all aside to catch Molly up in her arms. He is trembling. She shields him from the chill air, running her hands (glowing warmly with divine light) quickly over his exposed skin. His tail wraps so tightly around her leg that all the color drains from her fair flesh, leaving it pale as marble but for the shadow of a bruise. She does not care.

The man with blue eyes has fallen against the girl with blue skin. “Pardon me, child,” he murmurs as he helps her up, and his accent is different than before. She stares at him.

“Oh my gosh,” she whispers. “You—bu—wh—ah—”

“Things get around,” he smiles. “Fragments on the wind. And some jokes are too good to resist.”

“Thank you.” There are tears in her eyes. He brushes them away.

“My pleasure.” He turns away in a silent swoosh of green cloth, and she is left with only the barest whisper to her ear: _Happy birthday_.

Yasha is still holding Molly tightly, though he is now wrapped in a warm cloak and Caduceus is kneeling beside them, attendant and comforting. In his low voice he is saying, “Well, friend, you are very much alive. If you give me a few minutes, I can make you some nice, hot tea to warm you up. You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be just great.”

It is at this moment that Caleb Widogast stumbles out of the brush, holding his pants just barely in place with one hand; arcane fire gathering in the other. “Hello? What is going on? Why is Jester screaming?— MOLLYMAUK!?”

Jester stops screaming when her breath runs out, though she does not stop rolling around in the dirt, helpless in the throes of ecstasy. As she stops to inhale, she finds herself looking into the eyes of Fjord as he turns her face towards his. “Jester?” he says, worry floating in his eyes. “Jester? Are you hurt?” And then he abruptly recoils from the full force of her voice.

“YOU GUYS, THE TRAVELER IS THE FUCKING **TITS**!”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by AO3 user Wowza, who left the following comment on TamscendingGender's fic "Das Herz Lügt Nicht":
> 
> Caleb: The harvest is bountiful this year -yeets a Mollymauk out of the ground-
> 
> Thank you. (That fic may be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247244)


End file.
